Snowflakes
by The Smart One 64
Summary: In the harsh blizzard of the world, many turn to materialism as their escape from the cold. This story details one man uncovers God between the snowflakes, and receives a prize worth much more than any jackpot.


**Wrote this story in a Creative Writing class and decided to post it. Enjoy!**

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Legend has it that no two snowflakes are identical. Nevertheless, all have one common multiple: the delicate artwork of the Creator.

The same can be said about mankind. Although the French pastry connoisseur differs vastly from the nursing mother with HIV in Eritrea, both were sculpted through the Breath of Life. At the same time, both have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God. At the same time, both have been offered eternal, unconditional love.

I was blessed when I married Diane Brown in April ten years before. I was blessed when I graduated from law school and easily landed a position at Davids & Greene. I was blessed when our healthy twins, Vincent and Victoria, entered the world the following year. My life seemed to be perfect, but something was missing. Joy. Three simple letters that one would expect to find somewhere in the balance of my amazing family, my beneficial salary. Yet in recent times, I've felt plagued by my incomprehensible emptiness.

The recession of '08 sent a tidal wave across the global economy. Spain reached an unemployment rate of 25%, Greece's government slowly toppled, and China continued to obtain numerous American jobs. As some tumbled, others used them as stepping stones to perch themselves on a higher pedestal. It didn't seem fair, the corruption of mankind. Unfortunately, it took a miracle for me to understand this…and a ticket on the luck locomotive.

As per usual, I huddled beneath the metro station at Adams and Tillary, using my khaki trench coat to shield myself from winter's precipitation. Diane was right about the gloves; I definitely needed them today. Joining me on the bench was a younger man, likely in his 20's if I recall, head absorbed in the Times. I remember being disappointed about the bus delay due to the inclement weather conditions, but New York City traffic was once again condensed. Normally, one might expect a person to stay indoors, but with the holidays merely days away, after work remained the suitable time slot for people to conduct their last-minute purchases.

I recall indulging on a Ziploc filled with lemon-flavored cough drops. After catching the universal cold, these provided the best alternative compared to taking unnecessary sick days. I popped another in my mouth as the bus slowed to a halt a few blocks from my neighborhood. Wrapping my mother-in-law's 'delightful' scarf around my neck, I began the Arctic voyage to our apartment complex.

My mind was flooded with thougthts that day, thoughts of complaint, thoughts of stress, thoughts of concern. What if the opposition's office fails to reply to settlement within our agenda? The Yang household had proven to be a headache in arranging their divorce. Linda seemed indecisive as to which items my client was allowed to keep and which were to be loaded onto her new boyfriend's 2005 Jeep Grand Cherokee. Let's not forget my own family, however. Diane was in a frenzy to arrange her father's physical test. One distressing case of pneumonia, and now the poor man requires constant attention for caring. And then there's always the twins. The principal is still convinced Victoria is dyslexic, and Vincent is still convinced that Jeremy O'Reilly is still at large as the third grade bully. Unfortunately, I didn't seem to be having any success dousing these infernos.

Some compulsion in my stomach craved a quick coffee from the nearby gas station. I try to be courteous, holding the door for a frazzled lady. My feet carry me directly toward the counter.

"One tall macchiato, please. Double-shot."

The clerk nods and proceeds with my request. I glance at the nearby rack of postcards. I fixate on a tropical beach entitled 'Simply Heaven' and desperately desire to be there rather than Mt. Frostmore outside. Snickers. M&Ms. Twix. Reese's. All look appealing to my taste buds.

Normally, I don't pay attention to this sort of thing, but I catch myself staring at the Lotto Counter. Scratch tickets promising immediate winners litter the canopy, but for some reason I focus on the Jackpot. The recent advertisements have promised 100 million for a holiday winner. On a standard day, I'd laugh at the bogus claims, tempting people into an absurd hope. I've taken statistics before, so I know my math. With the odds of winning at a meager 1 in 716 million, it's definitely not how my dollar wants to be spent.

For some obscure reason, though, I decide to try today. "What the heck, I'll take a ticket as well," I ask as the clerk as she returns with my coffee. Nodding, we make the exchange and she hands me the numbered receipt. I withdraw a ballpoint pen from my pocket and begin selecting numbers.

Many people consider this to be the fun part. Some randomize their choices while crossing their fingers and kissing their horseshoes whereas others insert birthdays, anniversaries, even IQ digits. I don't feel original today and simply fill in 4 and 28 to represent my beloved marriage with Diane. In addition, I bubble in 7 and 13 for the twins' birthday, 24 in honor of my man, Kobe, and 42, because it might just be the answer to life, the universe, and everything.

As I am about to return the ticket to process through the computer, the frazzled lady next to me bumps into my shoulder, causing me to drop my ticket. "My apologies," she quietly replies, proceeding to bend over to collect the ticket. She smiles weakly as she offers me my valued purchase. In the moment that our eyes meet, something overtakes me. Beyond her chestnut irises lies a peculiar emotion different from her outward appearance: joy. She clutches her own ticket and grabs her tattered jacket, heading back out into the blistering weather. I watch her exit in a philosophical manner as the clerk ushers me to quit holding up the line.

For the next few hours, my mind is hung up over the woman, from the remainder of the trip home to the four-cheese lasagna entrée that evening. Even today, I find myself failing to grasp who she was, struggling to comprehend how she was. Despite my brief analysis, it's easy to conclude that she's far worse off than I was. Her wardrobe desired an extreme revision, and her hair implored for hygiene. For all I knew, she might have been homeless, yet somehow she maintained a flickering light of hope, of peace, of _joy_. I attempted to disregard her from my mind, but she inevitably was stuck of my brain. How could she have appeared so strong, so happy?

The evening news pops onto the television as I rest my feet on the recliner. Eventually, the Lightning Lottery comes into action, ping pong balls rumbling inside their container as the announcer welcomes to at-home audience excitingly. It doesn't take long before the first ball rolls down the archway, halting at the barricade. Plastered on all sides is the number _3_. I briefly glance at my ticket, knowing I've already lost a number, when something catches my eye:

The number three is bolded on my ticket.

That's odd, I think to myself. I had no recollection of selecting that number at the counter, but simply reconcile it with the belief that I misfiled it rather than the 4. Satisfied, yet cheerful about my error, I lean back and watch the next ball drop: _16_. Again, I proceed to cross off the number when my face drops: the number 16 is also selected.

I takes me quite a few seconds to fully grasp the situation until it dawns on me that I've accidentally switched tickets with the frazzled lady at the counter, likely when I dropped mine. Horrified, I stand up swiftly, alarming my wife. The next number is called: _22_. Unbelievably, she's selected this number as well, along with the number _37 _behind it. I collapse back into my chair as the reality becomes overwhelming. Number by number, I'm progressively winning 100 million dollars through an absolute stranger's ticket. This is clearly insane.

As much as I'm hoping her numbers will be voided, they continue to be successful, with _12_ being the next called out. As expected, it's marked off. The last ball, _2_, comes to a slow stop as I'm faced to realize that I'm the undeserving winner. Thankfully, Diane has left to help the twins prepare for bed, otherwise the ambulance would already be blaring outside in the snow. I try everything to wake up from what should be the finest hour of my life but what actually is warping into a complete nightmare. Pinching. Punching. Splashing water. Nothing.

That evening, I lie in bed for what feels like an eternity. I avoided informing Diane about the lottery ticket, hoping I can somehow solve this disaster. But how? The chances that I'll ever come across that woman again are as great as the probability I had to win the jackpot fairly. My thoughts enter a checkmate in terms of finding a solution.

Amazingly, I reassured myself with the understanding that the lottery officials are capable of pinpointing the store in which the ticket was sold. Perhaps (doubtable, but perhaps) she'll have faith in my personal humanity and camp out by the store. Maybe a miracle will allow me to run into her again to exchange her much-deserving reward.

I phone in sick to work the next day, a miraculous feat for me. Technically speaking, I am under the weather physically, but all of that is hidden in my panic to contact this woman. An emotional train wreck, I'm nearly speeding towards the gas station. My desperation is likely to go in vain, but at that moment the irrational hope of spotting her fuels the fire in my boiler. I arrive at the gas station and apply the parking brake of my 2004 Volkswagen. Remaining stationary alongside the curb, I rest my hands over the steering wheel and peek out between the gap. The waiting game has begun.

Six hours. For six hours, I'm resting inside a poorly heated vehicle watching countless people passing before me. I envy their fortune for not winning, not having to worry about a guilt trip to Foreverland. While they are able to clutch onto joy in their lives, I'm simply clutching onto an improbable satisfaction expedition.

God's glory can produce amazing things. After a bitter, frozen seven hours of waiting, the clouds seem to part, and there she is. I gallop out of my car to cross the street where she appears to be passing out books by the sidewalk. I approach her cautiously, still unsure of my word usage despite numerous minutes of solitude. "Excuse me, ma'am?"

Her eyes pass across mine as I witness a frighteningly thin boy grab a book and nobly move on. Somehow, I seem to supernaturally emit joy at the sight before realizing the book's title: HOLY BIBLE.

"May I offer one, sir?" the woman responds in a tone that expresses complete innocence and gentleness.

Before that snow-blown day, I had never thought about God. Well, I suppose the idea existed somewhere in my brain's mechanisms, but I had understood him as a mere concept as opposed to a being. I recall going to a Christian church once or twice when I was a child, but I remember how confused I was in regards to the sermon. Something wasn't connecting for me. But on December 25th, 1982, everything had changed. On my way home from school, I was contemplating how to tell my parents about my A+ on the History test, and that I had landed a role as the Tin Man in our upcoming production of The Wizard of Oz. Instead, I came home to a building surrounding by police cars and caution tape. Confused would be an understatement as I mustered the bravery to ask a nearby cop what was happening.

That day, thirty years ago, was the day my father murdered my mother and himself.

I suppose I was blessed when I managed to escape the haunting childhood that tore my entire world apart. I suppose I was blessed when my life was slowly starting over. But ever since that day, I never experienced joy. Never. Instead, my reality was plagued with guilt, grief, questions as to why it happened. I couldn't understand how God, if he truly existed, could allow something so devastating to happen. For that reason, I had turned away. Now, something was bringing me back.

I extended my hand, revealing the winning lottery ticket. "This is yours. The one you purchased yesterday at the gas station across the street. I must have accidentally grabbed yours when we spilled them, but I don't recognize the numbers. Thankfully I found you," I trailed. My goal was to avoid mentioning that I knew turning it in could potentially cash 100 million.

Instead, she looked at me somberly. "You don't understand. The ticket is yours."

"But I didn't choose these numbers. You did. It was paid by you, chosen by you, and received by you. Legally, it's yours."

Her eyes almost began to speak for her. "Mr. Brown, what happened yesterday wasn't an accident. I gave the ticket to you. It's yours."

I was flabbergasted. "Wait, how do you know my name?"

She smiled. "'_Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have summoned you by name; you are mine.'_"

"I can't take it though! You earned the money associated with this ticket. Believe me, I'm positive you can benefit from the money. It's unacceptable if I cheat, even if it means 100 million. I just…I just can't…" My voice lost momentum as it drew silent.

Even in her brief silence, I could feel the power of her words transcribing from her tongue. "'_The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want._' Mr. Brown, I know you're lost. I know you've had a difficult past and are still searching for answers. The truth is, God cares about you. He's with you every day, whether you choose to answer his knocking at your door or not. He has so many spectacular plans for your life, even today. And he'll never fail to love you. Never.

"My life may not be perfect. I, too, am guilty of error. All of us are. But God continues to love us, even when we're cursing him with our behavior. He created each and every one of us a perfect individual in his own image. And even though we are undeserving, his love was strong enough that he sacrificed his son, his _only_ son, whom he loved, in order that we don't have to endure an eternal turmoil.

"So no, Mr. Brown, the ticket is yours. _'For I know the plans I have for you, plans to prosper you and not harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.'_ Use this opportunity to discover who you are and who you are in God."

With those words said, she returned the lottery ticket and placed a Bible in my hands. I remained speechless for several minutes after she walked off, hesitant to move. Where was I, and where was I going? I still felt unable to tell for certain.

As I walked back to the Volkswagen, my boots crunched along the snowy crosswalk. My eyes looked up as a lone snowflake landed on my left glove. A few seconds after it dissipated, another flew and landed on my opposite glove. It occurred to me that their structures were significantly different from one another in countless ways, yet at the same time came from the same cloud in the sky. I began to wonder what kind I was on a planet that seems full of evil and hatred. What made me Henry Brown? Was I the French pastry connoisseur? Was I the HIV nursing mother in Eritrea?

Unlocking the driver door, I sat in front of the steering wheel, hands not daring to start the ignition. My right hand was still clutching the Bible the woman had offered me. And for some reason, I was compelled to open it.

I began skimming through the various chapters. Genesis. Judges. Psalms. Isaiah. This went on for perhaps a minute before I noticed the three tabs sticking out from the pages. Opening one led me to a verse that had been highlighted:

John 3:16

"_For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life."_

The completion of this verse directed me towards another tab, which I opened and continued to read:

Matthew 22:37

"_Jesus replied, 'Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind."_

Lastly, I headed towards the final tab:

Romans 12:2

"_Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God's will is—his good, pleasing, and perfect will."_

I was starting to wonder about the manner in which this was to go about with the lottery ticket. At my fingertips was the promise of a guaranteed perfect future. All that was left was to confirm it and receive the dough. My hands transferred the lottery ticket from the dashboard to my hands, and I read the winning numbers to myself in the order they had been called the night before:

3-16-22-37-12-2

In a split second, I glanced at the three verses provided:

John 3:16-Matthew 22:37-Romans 12:2

On Christmas Eve, 2012, my life changed forever. As the realization sunk in, the snowstorm finally began to clear. Within three seconds, I had ripped the lottery ticket into shreds. With one hand holding my Bible, I proceeded to weep, and for the first time in my life, I began to pray.

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**Matthew 6:21 "For where your treasure is, there you heart will be also."**


End file.
